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Love letter

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Hello, you.

We've been seeing each other every day for a year, save for a week at Christmas and that time I was sick. About that: I don't want you to think I couldn't summon the energy to visit you. I wanted to, but I was worried you might catch something. Of course, I know now you're immune to human viruses. That's cool.

Even in that crowd, you look kind of lonely. Do you miss Hawaii? Did you lose somebody? And what about those limbs you used to have? You're whimpering. Have you been crying?

There's no need to be so demure. Compared to that gaggle of hangers-on, those barnacles, you're a supermodel; a rare breed; endangered, even; captivating, appearing as if from nowhere, strutting your stuff in that Burberry coat and inter-seasonal snood; staring purposefully into the middle distance, aloof; refusing to eat anything but shelled sunflower seeds and the occasional berry – and never more than a handful, before disappearing into a thicket to throw shade at a pigeon.